


Christmas Party

by PseudonymMcWriter



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Connor Deserves Happiness, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Penis In Vagina Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Shameless Smut, Smut, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:12:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27959723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PseudonymMcWriter/pseuds/PseudonymMcWriter
Summary: Follow-up toAndroid Pubertybut can be read as standalone.Things heat up at the office Christmas Party between you and Connor.
Relationships: Connor (Detroit: Become Human)/Reader
Comments: 20
Kudos: 177





	1. Christmas Party

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This was written as a continuation of [Android Puberty](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27703520/chapters/67801961), but it can be read as a one-shot.
> 
> I also now have a follow-up called [Science Fiction/Double Feature](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28696857/chapters/70354788).
> 
> I have other Connor/Reader fics you can find here: [Touch-Starved](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29250543), [Never Thought I'd Be Into This](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29092566), [Guess I'm Into This](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29761338), [Duet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29061894), [Deviant](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29738274), [What I Want](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28969554), [Symbiosis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27803791).
> 
> For those of you here for the smut, skip to Chapter 2. If you prefer a slow burn and a sprinkling of plot you can start here!
> 
> Music for seducing your robot boy: [Wicked Game by Chris Isaak](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aid2vMbCNP8).
> 
> Thanks for the comments and Kudos - I'm having a lot of fun writing for this fandom.

The DPD wasn't known for its social gatherings, but you had to admit, they hadn't done a bad job this time. 

The taxi had dropped you at a bar you didn't recognise, despite it being just a few blocks from your apartment. Considering that wasn't usually a good sign, it turned out to be a real hidden gem. A nice-sized lounge, with plenty of seating and a pretty impressive bar. Decor was cute; all soft reds and golds, and the low light made it all feel pretty cozy... For a Christmas Party packed full of cops.

You were at the bar, where you'd snagged yourself a dry section to lean against and watch the fray. The room was buzzing, groups of officers laughing and drinking, a few people dancing in the centre of the room. 

"Never thought I'd see the day. You're actually out."

You don't have to look, you'd recognise Hank's voice anywhere. He turns with his fresh glass to lean beside you.

"Careful, it's wet," You warn, too late. Hank jerks up from the counter, his favourite jacket now sporting a fetching dark line of... God knows what. "Now what are you going to wear for the rest of your life?"

"Yeah, yeah. You didn't dress up either."

"Didn't know I was coming. I had a lovely evening planned: takeout, a glass of wine alone in my apartment, and an early night." 

"What changed your mind?" 

"Fowler said the booze was free." Hank laughs at that and you tap your glasses together. You cast a look around. "Is Connor here?"

"Yeah, somewhere. Thought he'd be with you. You did a number on him, you know. He never stops talking about you."

"Really?" You can hear the smirk in your voice. The agreement was to keep this from Hank, not because he wouldn't approve (although that was certainly a possibility) but because you didn't even know what "this" was. Connor had been back to your office a dozen times and counting since your first meeting. Sometimes you didn't have sex, sometimes it was just talking. Sometimes. Maybe once or twice.

"You've got his wires crossed. He might have a crush."

"I'd love to hear what evidence you've used to piece that one together, Lieutenant." You laugh.

"Don't we do the same thing, doctor? Your mysteries are just less messy to unravel." He gestures at his head, at the broad nature of the field of psychology.

"I wouldn't say that. Your head's pretty messy," You cast him a wry look and raise your bottle to your mouth. "I think you're finding patterns where there aren't any."

"Right. Well, I have to make shit up because neither of you will tell me what the fuck you talked about."

"Can't." You mumble, the bottle against your lips. "Patient confidentiality."

"He's not your patient."

You take the opportunity to think over your response as you finish your drink. "He's very fond of you, you know. He's lucky to have you taking care of him."

Hank snorts, but you catch him smiling into his drink when he thinks you're not looking. When he catches your sidelong glance his brow furrows.

"What? You're not gonna get on my ass about the drink, are you?"

"I'm off-duty." You assure him, before tapping your empty bottle. "Wouldn't say no to a bribe though. Whiskey's fine."

Hank huffs but takes your empty glass. As he turns away, he notices something across the lounge.

"Okay, if he doesn't have a crush. Why is he staring at you like that?"

You follow his gaze at once. Connor is standing on the other side of the room, apparently mid-step. Hank was right, he's staring, but the moment you make eye contact he makes his way over. It's stupid, but you feel a rush of excitement.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Hank says when he reaches you, scooping up two glasses from the bar and turning to face Connor.

"We were just talking about you," You take your new drink from Hank. "Your partner thinks you have a crush on me."

It's worth it just to throw them both off. Hank grumbles to himself and sips at his whiskey. Connor, never particularly expressive, looks as close to mortified as you've ever seen.

"I was speaking to Detective Reed," Connor addresses Hank, but his eyes don't leave you.

"Reed? What did he want?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary."

"One of these days I'm gonna kill that asshole," Hank muttered, then to you: "I bet you have some dirt on him."

"Maybe, but-..."

"Yeah, yeah. Patient confidentiality. I'm gonna go take a leak, and if I run into him on the way, who knows... Maybe today's the day."

Connor turns as if to stop Hank but the older man waves him away, traipsing off through the crowded dancefloor towards the bathrooms.

You lean back against the bar, cool as a cucumber. Connor takes Hank's place beside you.

"Was that true?" You ask, stirring the ice around your glass. "About Reed?"

"Was it obvious?"

"He knew you were looking for me."

"Sorry, I've never had to be discreet like this before."

You shake your hair back, liking the way it draws his eyes to your neck. "We should dance."

Connor's gaze moves from your throat up to your eyes. You nod at the dancefloor. The night's picking up, a good number of cops are dancing now - either by themselves or with each other.

"That doesn't sound very discreet, doctor." 

"Do you want to feel human, or do you want to stay on the periphery?" You down your drink and set the glass on the bar. "I'm not suggesting anything scandalous. Strictly PG."

You come away from the bar, swinging your hips a little with the music, looking at him expectantly. A small smile quirks his lips, and he steps into your space. You keep your word - it's very PG. Just a gentle sway, one of his hands chastely on your waist, the other in yours. You rest your wrist on his shoulder, your fingertips lightly brushing his jaw when you speak.

"I don't think Hank wants me corrupting you," You tell him. "He's very protective."

"The Lieutenant knows you've been helpful. He's started to relax over the past few weeks." Connor looks out across the dancefloor. You aren't the only couple dancing, but you have gained a bit more attention. "I've been thinking about you."

"Hmph. I've heard that one before."

"About your work. Applying psychology to androids. It could be an important field of study as more of us make the transition."

"Nothing we've been doing could be misconstrued as scientific." You almost laugh. He looks at you from beneath his eyelashes, slightly bashful. You lean a bit closer to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. "But if you're thinking about going public...'

"That might be seen as a conflict of interest."

"I don't see it that way, we don't actually work together."

"You don't worry about what people think?" Neither of you have to look to notice the number of eyes on you, or listen to hear the gossip spread.

"You can't avoid attention, Connor. People are going to notice you, you're a novelty to them still, but you aren't a machine anymore and they know that. If you're worried about raising eyebrows, you can dance with other people tonight. It'll become the android acting human story, not the android fucking the psychologist story."

"I don't want to dance with other people." He comes a bit closer, taking one of your hands while the other slides around your waist as his face dips close to your ear. "And no one's going to believe that. Not when you're looking at me the way you are."

He holds your hand up, one finger reaching out to wrap around a curl of your hair. He strokes one finger across your knuckles and smoothes your hair between his thumb and index finger. You can't see his face, he's close enough now that you're looking over each other's shoulders, but you can feel him breathing against the curve of your neck, breathing in your smell. Your skin feels flushed, and you duck your head down a little against his shoulder. You run your palm up his back, feeling the strong plastic hidden within his narrow frame, and let it rest there. Maybe not PG, maybe a little scandalous.

"I don't know what you're talking about," You say lightly, tilting your head back so you can see his face. There's inches between you, nowhere to hide, but your tone is challenging. You'd grown to like the way he looked at you, the way his gaze grew somehow both sharp and distant as he analyzed every part of you, uncovering all the secrets things you barely knew you were hiding. There was always an added thrill when he did it in public, like there was some intimacy between you that other people might suspect but never quite know the depth of.

"You're trying too hard," His voice is low, "If I carried you out of here, right now, you wouldn't try to stop me. Not that you could, anyway."

"Very domineering," You run your finger up the back of his neck, your smirk growing at the way his eyelids begin to close. "I would hate to cause a commotion. Still..."

You step back, detaching yourself from him a little. He lets you go, smoothly fitting himself into a less intense embrace as you continue to sway to the music. He understands this is just part of the dance, metaphorically speaking. He knows that, eventually, he'll have you.

"I wanted to ask," You begin, using the momentary distance between you as an opportunity to catch your breath. "Do you get any pleasure out of this? Dancing? Socialising? Can you feel the difference in who you are now versus who you used to be?"

"I think so. The differences are very clear, at first I was intrigued - it felt like a whole new area to study and understand. Then it became frustrating, it felt like a distraction."

"From your missions?"

He tightens his grip on you a little, in faux-annoyance. "I'm not as easy to distract anymore."

"That's a shame."

"Now, I don't know. I think it's becoming more manageable and closer to what a human might experience." He tilts his head. "I remain superior to humans, though, of course."

"I don't doubt that you have a rich inner life, Connor, my mind probably can't even comprehend it." You lean into him, giving him a humorous look. "Hank said you talk about me all the time. Like a little schoolboy."

Connor's expression darkens, as if he's barely holding back from showing you how wrong you are. You look away, like the crowd is more interesting than he is. He's a strange creature, simultaneously naïve and predatory, desperate for praise and cocksure he deserves it. He never quite seems to know where he stands, whether he enjoys being told what to do, or whether to indulge his newfound freedom by taking control. It makes sense, you suppose, he's finding his place in the world, just like everybody else. From your time together you get the impression he likes both, the feeling of ceding control to an 'inferior being' and the more aggressive domination of somebody who, up until recently, would have had complete control over him. You like it too. You both like testing the limits - engaging in something taboo.

"What do you say about me?" You press.

"That you talk too much," He says, bitterly. You have to laugh at that.

"Seriously," You move in a bit closer, just enough to get him interested, but still resistant enough to entice him into doing his best to unravel you. "What kinds of things do you think about when I'm not around?"

"I replay our time together. Sometimes just the parts when we talk. I like talking to you." You see the outline of his tongue press against his teeth as he lingers over what he wants to say next. You can't help but lean closer, your impatience betraying you. His eyes lighten in response, satisfied that he has something you want, savouring this little victory. "I replay the other parts too, sometimes when other people are around, but usually I have to be alone. Sometimes I add things, construct different scenarios, let them play out. When I'm not doing that my mind wanders. I've thought about what would happen if we get caught. I don't think I would want that, but something about it..."

"Who do you imagine catching us?"

"Hank, sometimes. Gavin." Connor's hold on you has tightened but you barely notice. "I don't know how to explain it, but I like the idea that they would know. I like the idea of people knowing I'm with you, and imagining what I do to you. I like that they might disagree, that they might try to interfere, and I like that not one of them could ever stop me."

You hold out as long as you can, but his words burn through all of your barriers, like wildfire to tinder, and lick at your core.

"Fuck, Connor..." Your voice is barely a whisper. "Maybe this isn't the best place for this conversation."

Connor can't hide his smile, his face dips close, as if he's about to kiss you - as if you're about to let him kiss you here, in front of the entire station. But as his head lowers, so do his shoulders, and over them you spot Hank coming back through the crowd. 

"Hold that thought," You murmur. He hasn't seen you yet. "Jazzercize has finally found his way back from the bathroom."

You can see Connor's jaw tighten, an exhale of breath leaving his nose and hitting your neck as he forces himself away, returning to the neutral, 100% PG dance you'd started. For a moment you think he won't be able to cover it in time, the way his brown eyes blaze with barely suppressed need, but as Hank spots you and comes over, he relaxes at once. It's almost enough to throw you off yourself, how quickly he can settle into that quiet calm. That robotic steadiness. You collect yourself just in time, smiling at Hank as he comes over.

"I had to put your theory to the test," You step away from Connor. "I tried my best but he's incorruptible. I'm heartbroken."

"I hope you didn't go looking for Detective Reed, Lieutenant." Connor's voice is even. As if he hadn't just been telling you how badly he wanted to fuck you. "That wouldn't be advisable."

Hank passes a look between the two of you. He doesn't believe a word of this, you think. In a way, you were almost proud. Lieutenant Anderson: still as sharp as ever.

"Listen, uh... I was about to head home." Hank says, his voice gruff.

"Are you feeling alright?" You ask. Hank scowls and waves you away. 

"Never better. Just.... Had my fill of all of this..." He stretches his arms out, towards the now-very-drunk partygoers around them. "Do you need a lift home?"

"No, thank you, but let me see you out," You suggest. Some fresh air sounds pretty great right now. 

You don't realize how stifling the bar was until you're outside. The effect is instantaneous, the cold air knocking the wind out of you. Even with your coat on you're shivering in the fresh snowfall. Still, the city looks beautiful. It's near silent, the snow casting a strange bronze glow on the night street. The music thumps behind you, but it's background noise as your shoes crunch deep footprints in the virgin snow.

"God, I love Detroit." You spread your arms wide, head tipping back, opening yourself up to the fine snowflakes that melt on your exposed skin. You hear Hank laugh.

"You sure you're okay getting home, doctor?"

"I have faith in the machines," You grin as an autonomous taxi pulls up beside Hank. "Or is that your way of inviting me home?"

"I'm an old man," Hank laughs you off, suddenly embarrassed. "Don't tease me."

The door of the taxi slides open and Hank props one boot up onto the step, before hesitating. "Connor, why don't you make sure the doctor gets home safe?"

He throws a look back over his shoulder at the android, who was waiting politely behind him. Connor's stance relaxes a little at Hank's suggestion, but he doesn't speak. Hank looks at you, and you shrug. 

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"Yeah, I don't know about that..." Hank's voice is barely audible, hardly even a mumble. Connor nods and steps back, letting Hank clamber into the taxi alone, but as the car pulls away, you're sure you see him smiling to himself. You turn on your heel, away from Connor and towards the string of lights leading down the street, leading the way to a single, glowing Christmas tree.

"It's funny," You say, almost to yourself. "I've always loved this time of year. It's sentimental, I know, but I guess you don't grow out of everything."

"When I was at CyberLife. When I didn't know what it was to be free," Connor comes up beside you. "I used to look out over this city, at all of the lights, and I thought about the people who made all of this. Even then, I wanted to be a part of it."

You feel him wrap his arms around you, his face turned towards yours, jaw resting against your hair. He doesn't speak, but you know his eyes are fixed on your face, while you can't quite tear yourself from the Christmas tree.

Your mind wanders, to your childhood, to your family and friends. What would they think about Connor? What would it be like, to show the world that you belonged to an android, to Connor, and him to you?

The moment lasts, time feeling dreamlike in the snow. A few taxis pass you by, but no one comes out of the bar. It's just the two of you. Connor lifts one hand to gently press your chin, turning you into him, so he can kiss you. It's soft, a mixture of tenderness and the light push of something more - the testing of barriers, the desire to possess, that shapes all of your encounters. When he breaks away he looks at you.

"What you said..." You murmur, "About wanting people to know? I think I'd be open to that, under the right circumstances."

Connor cocks his head, his grip easing to let you face him fully. You reach up to adjust his tie for him, eyes trained on your hands rather than his face.

"I just mean... I think it would be an interesting experiment, if we gave this a try." You chance a glance up at him. "Would you agree?"

Connor's expression is implacable, at first, then it breaks into a warm smile. "I think I'd like to try."

Warmth blossoms in your chest. This had never been your intention. At first, you had been fuelled by a baser instinct paired with curiosity. Now, well, maybe you weren't so resistant to the idea of taking this a bit more seriously.

"Good. My priority is just the android psychology study, you should know that upfront..." You can't keep the smile off your face as he wraps you back in his arms, pulling you with him through the snow. "I'm really just using you-... Hey!"

Connor lifts you so your toes are dragging across the ground, his low playful chuckles almost like growls as your laugh echoes through the empty streets.

"What the fuck is this?" 

You grimace. The sound of the music from the bar becomes louder and clearer as the doors swing back and forth. Detective Gavin Reed is standing there at the entrance, arms folded, looking around at the couple of officers with him for a reaction.

"Hey! I'm talking to you," He calls out again.

But Connor isn't looking at him, and neither are you. Instead you're looking at each other. You aren't one for theatre or pettiness, but fuck it. You lean up on your tiptoes and kiss Connor. Connor reacts immediately, arms tightening around your waist, his mouth opening to let you in. It's brief - even the idea that this might be for Gavin's benefit is enough to cut it short - but passionate. It certainly gets the point across, and more than that, it reminds both of you where your conversation had ended so abruptly earlier.

"Walk me home?" You ask, suddenly short of breath. Connor nods and follows your lead, neither of you sparing Gavin a single glance.


	2. Home

Detroit is rarely quiet at night, but tonight is a time for novelty. The fresh snowfall and the cool electric lights build an intimate atmosphere, as if it's only you and Connor in the whole city. You're near-silent during the walk to your apartment, but your hand clasps his, and you know that whenever you pass a Christmas wreath or ring of lights, he's looking at it too. In the silence, you build the beginnings of a shared experience with him. The roots of nostalgia.

It's funny, this isn't your first time but it feels that way when you let him into your apartment. It's a simple place, always dimly lit, with a small living room that you don't often use, an even smaller kitchen (more frequently used), bathroom, and a single bedroom. 

You expect a pause, an extended period of investigation as Connor is introduced to your home, to the spatial representation of your life. You shrug off your coat and fold it over the back of the chair by the door, holding back while Connor steps further inside, turning his constantly moving mind to your home - to you.

It's a conscious decision on your part, to let him in. You don't do it often, you like your space and your privacy, so this really means something. You lean against the wall, watching Connor as he scans the living room, the kitchen, then turns towards the open door into the bedroom.

Inside, he finds shelves of books: psychology, sociology, criminology. A fair share of fiction. An ordered desk, complete with laptop and notepads. The rest is predictable, a closet, a mirror, and a bed. It's basic, utilitarian, and, you realize, deeply impersonal.

You pause at the doorway, waiting for Connor to finish with the books and notice the more immediately important item of furniture.

"So, the woman who lives here..." Your voice is low. "What have you determined about her, detective?"

Connor keeps his back to you, making a show of sweeping his gaze across the room. You're certain he can sense your anticipation, just like he could the first time. "Work is her priority. It's what she's valued for a long time, while other parts of her life have disappeared. She's intelligent, she's mindful of others, but she's detached. My observation is that she's hungry for change, more specifically..." He turns a little, not quite meeting your eye but with his head turned over his shoulder. "She's desperate to give up control."

"Hm. I think that's a fair analysis," You step into the room, but don't come too close. Connor turns to watch you.

"Do you think I made a mistake?" He asks, hearing the doubt in your tone.

"No, I'm just wondering if you're a little biased. You might be imposing your own preconceptions, just a little."

"My preconceptions?"

"I think, theoretically speaking, if an android suddenly had free will, there might be something stimulating about the idea of exerting control - particularly over a human." You come closer, feeling your heart begin to race. "I think that after living so long without praise or respect, such an android might enjoy having a human worship them."

You like this little dance that always comes first, the give-and-take, the efforts to draw out as many lurid admissions from each other you can - ready to put into action.

But, tonight felt different. Tonight, you just wanted him. 

"It sounds like they'd make a good match-..." Connor barely gets the words out before you close the distance, tangling your hands in his hair and pressing yourself against him, suddenly desperate to ruin his perfect composure.

This isn't your first time, not even close, but there's something novel about it - an electricity in the air that crackles between you, raising the fine hairs on your skin and shooting between your lips as you kiss, every touch hypersensitive, almost painful. He's never been this insistent, this dominant. You know what happens next will be entirely down to him, and what ideas an android can concoct are still as unknown to you as before you met him. You're equal parts excited and apprehensive as he puts a hand around the back of your neck and pushes, firm but gentle, until you drop willingly to your knees. 

You unzip his trousers. You've done this with him before, but you realize you've never actually tasted him. He's as cool and perfect as you remember, and to begin with it's all quite familiar. You start slow before finding your rhythm. His hands snake into your hair, his touch soft, his hips still as he lets you work.

You run your tongue over the tip and taste something that makes you pause. It's not a life-like taste, instead there's a tang to it - a sourness. You suck at the head, almost entirely out of curiosity (even if it does make Connor grunt, his grip on your head tightening just a little). It's almost like sherbet, both bitter and sweet, and in the back of your mind you realize that CyberLife must have done this on purpose - of course their robots would have cum that tasted good, that made you want to tease out every last drop.

You hum against his length, your throat opening to accept the bittersweet liquid that was now leaking out of him, and you began to work harder, more urgently. His hands tighten in your hair as his hips begin to roll gently against you, chasing the release you know is building.

You can hear him struggling to stay quiet, the tiny hums and gasps for breath loud in the silence of your apartment. If someone had told you you'd be on your knees like this, in your own bedroom, just a few weeks ago you would've laughed in their face. Now, though, barely anything seems to matter except for you and him. 

Connor let's out a stuttered moan, one hand coming up to close around his mouth as he thrusts more deeply into you. Your hands on his thighs steady his movements, the ache in your jaw subsiding as your mind retracts from everything but the taste of him and the sounds he's making.

When he cums, you continue to work him. It's foul and filthy but fuck... he tastes so good. It isn't until he lets out a strangled groan and pulls you away that you stop.

"You're so fucking-..." You look up at him, both of you trying to catch your breath. "Tell me what to do."

"On the bed," He manages, his voice low and rough. You pull yourself back onto the mattress, but before your weight is even fully off the floor he's coming after you, pushing you back, crawling upwards until he's pinning you down.

He presses you into the mattress, his tongue invading your mouth. It's a sensation you're gradually getting used to, but it still feels bizarre. The smooth, cool tongue pressed against yours, lingering to absorb as much data as possible, before curling around your tongue. You moan into his open mouth, arching your back up into him, your fingers gripping his jacket and your legs rubbing against the outside of his thighs as he fits perfectly against you.

When he finally lets you up for breath, he wastes no time. 

"Take off your clothes," His voice is soft but full of need, shifting his weight to let you up. You sit at the edge of the bed, focusing on your lower half first. When your hands move up to unbutton your shirt, Connor comes up behind you. He's so much faster than you are, dispensing of your shirt then slowing to unhook and push off your bra. Before you can turn around, his arm circles your waist and pulls you backwards, until you're lying back against him at the head of the bed. 

His breath is harsh against your ear, turning jagged as he manoeuvres one hand between you to undo his tie. He hooks his fingers into the bends of your elbows, tugging them behind your back, and you oblige - holding your arms behind you so he can fasten his tie around your upper arms. With your shoulders rolled back and your chest pushed out, you feel totally within his control, lying back against his chest, your body enclosed between his legs.

His hands come up to run up and down your naked body, rubbing lightly against your chest before tracing ticklish touches down your sides. His left hand reaches up past your sternum, between your breasts, to fasten around your mouth, pulling your head back so you almost lying diagonally across him. His other hand snakes between your legs.

You moan against his palm, the sound muffled, almost a whimper as his long fingers move expertly, sliding down to lightly circle your clit.

He has full control over your body, as if you weigh nothing at all. He ducks down to press his mouth against your chest, one hand pulling your head back further to expose more of you to him, the other splaying to rub over your thighs and cup your sex, before returning to your clit.

"Fuck, Connor..." You say, or try to, although it's not audible through the hand pressed firmly against your lips. You begin to squirm, writhing against his iron grip and the tight coil of his tie, against the building pressure between your legs, and the light brush of his lips against your breasts. It's like instinct, some repressed urge to resist submission, to escape him, but even as your legs squeeze against his hand and your back arches away from his body, and you whine pathetically against his hand, nothing slows him down.

Your legs begin to quiver, and Connor's mouth on your chest loses its gentleness, now pressing deep, open-mouthed kisses to the tender flesh of your breasts before snaking his tongue around your nipples, teasing them into hard points. He presses one final kiss to your sternum before pulling his head up, his hair brushing against your chest as he fixes his gaze on your face. His fingers move quickly, urgently, the friction hot and rough between your tightly closed thighs until finally he pushes you over the edge.

You keen, almost sobbing against his hand, a string of pleas silenced against the cool synthetic skin of his palm as you ride out your orgasm.

When you're done, Connor removes his hands, and the heat rushes to your face. You inhale deeply, desperate for breath, only for Connor to cut it short by pressing another deep kiss to your lips. His hands cover you, tracing every inch of your skin, from pulling your legs to reach your feet to coming all the way up to your throat and your hair.

When he finally relents, your lips feel sore and your skin is burning. Connor undoes the tie and shifts so you're lying on the bed and he's looking down at you. The cool, soft fabric of the duvet beneath you is heavenly after the coarse material of his clothes and the unrelenting rigidity of his body.

With a chance to catch your breath, you smile up at him. "You... are fucking hot."

Connor looks smug, relishing in your praise. With your hands free you reach up tentatively and begin to unbutton his shirt. He watches as you loosen his shirt and press your palms against his chest and midriff, coming away from the bed to murmur in his ear. 

"You're so perfect, Connor."

He swallows, a low sound in his throat betraying him. You press small kisses to his jaw, pausing to breathe in the faint scent of his hair and to whisper his name in his ear.

You pull back a little to face him, your eyes fixed on each other as your fingers continue to trail across the skin beneath his clothes. He may look and sound human, but the cool perfection of his form feels unnatural beneath your hands, inhuman. You can feel his breath against your open mouth, strained and heavy, his eyes heavy-lidded. He loves this, the look in your eye and the tentative, almost deifying way your hands explore his body.

Connor's hands drifts down to your sides, pressing featherlight touches against your ribs, then up to stroke your cheekbones and lips.

"You were wrong," Connor's words are stuttered. "Earlier, when you said I just wanted to be in control. I think you were falling into binary thinking."

"Really? Me?" You're breathless, coming down to lay flat on your back with your hair splayed out across the pillow.

"I think you could be a bit more flexible," Connor sits back and lifts your leg, pressing his lips to the inside of your ankle, then up to the inside of your knee. "Sometimes, an android new to emotion might be curious about human unpredictability. I think I'd like to know what you'd want to do to me, if you had control."

"Right now? My muscles feel like lead. I think I..." Connor's still holding your leg, pressing distracting kisses against your inner knee and thigh. "I think..."

One hand holds your leg up and the other comes down to rub circles into your hip. He alternates kissing your leg with staring down at you, and you're starting to interpret the differences in what you had, at first, seen as a neutral expression. Right now, there was the slightest smirk on his lips, and smallest shine of confidence in his eyes. Kneeling over you, with his shirt hanging open and his hair falling into his face, he keeps this up until you can't take it anymore.

"I think you know what I want, you smug bastard," You lift your other leg to rub your knee against the curve of his narrow waist. "I want you to show me exactly why I belong to you."

Connor leans down to claim your mouth, purposely pressing his hips flush against yours. He's impatient, abandoning your lips quickly to trail kisses down your body, his soft hair tickling your skin as he works his way down to your hips, where he pauses to kiss your protruding hipbones. You gasp, one hand coming down to settle in his hair. You trust him, but there's a kneejerk reaction to feeling his teeth close around your skin, so close to your most vulnerable part.

"Connor..." You breathe as his arms circle up around the tops of your legs, fingers hooking into the soft flesh of your inner thighs to gently pull them apart.

The heat in the apex of your thighs feels unbearable, the soft buffet of his breath against you enough to make you writhe already.

"Connor." Your voice is firmer, the instruction left unsaid: please just fucking touch me. He seems to get it.

You feel his cool wet tongue lick a line up to your clit. He presses his tongue flat against your entrance before driving it inside, then back out. You feel him exhale through his nostrils before he suddenly presses his mouth to your clit and sucks so hard your hands jerk down immediately to his head and your hips rise up from the bed.

"Ah! Connor!" 

He doesn't release you, instead his grip tightens, your fingers in your hair doing nothing to deter him from the task at hand. You've kissed him enough times to know what his tongue's capable of, that it's strong and agile in a way a man's isn't, but feeling it work your clit is overwhelming. You gasp and whimper, your body already too exhausted and over-stimulated to do anything other than give into him. He seems to sense your surrender, his grip loosening a little as he withdraws from your clit to press against your entrance. But he comes back up before you can catch your breath, and so it goes on, the urgent, concentrated ministrations on your clit and the soft, wet laps at your entrance.

"Please," You whisper, then again, louder: "Please, Connor. Please."

He gives you what you want, tongue swiping back and forth against your clit until your legs begin to shake and your hips roll up against him. When you cum, it feels deep and thorough, a sweet kind of pain that shudders through your whole body and leaves you completely fatigued.

You lay there, spent, chest heaving as you feel Connor's weight leave you. You have to force your eyes open. Connor's kneeling there, watching you. His hair is a mess, and he's smiling a satisfied smile. As eager as he is for praise, he knows he's done well, even without you saying so. 

Your eyes fall from his face to the front of his jeans, and the very obvious bulge therein. Without a word, you lift your leg and gently stroke your bare foot up his thigh, toes curling into his inner leg. You smile lazily, twisting and arching your back a little until the smile leaves his face and his stare grows more intense. 

He leans forward and rolls your body so you're on your side, pushing your top leg up so his hips are flush against the underside of your thigh and the heat of your sex. You watch as he pulls off his jacket and shirt and pushes down his jeans and underwear, and the numbness in your core quickly subsides as you watch his hands shake and his breath quicken, and you feel his length bump against your body. You reach up to grip your pillow, your teeth worrying your lip in anticipation, before he sinks slowly into you.

Your eyes flutter closed as he sets his pace, one hand on your waist, the other tight on your thigh as he thrusts into you. His pace is quick, urgent, a series of low sounds escaping his throat as he rocks your body against the mattress just hard enough to make the headboard bump the wall. You open your eyes to watch him. You love to watch Connor come undone. There's no masculine urge to remain silent and stoic, not in the end anyway, instead he becomes overwhelmed by the intensity of emotion, he gets vocal and desperate and you fucking love it. 

You release the breath you've been holding, a quiet moan blending with his as he lifts and bends your top leg, hands fastening around it as he drives into you towards his end.

When he cums he presses himself as close to you as he can, pumping slow and deep, and it's his jagged moan and the feel of him inside you that brings you to your final climax. When he withdraws, he's as exhausted as you are, crawling up to lay down beside you. 

He wraps his arms around you, and you allow him a few minutes before you nudge him.

"I have to pee," Even so, you nuzzle into him a little. "Some of us have to worry about that sort of thing."

He hums, squeezing you tightly before letting you get up. "Should I..?"

You don't know what he's going to ask, but when you turn back towards him he looks equal parts comfortable and uncomfortable in your bed.

"You're not going anywhere, are you?" You pause mid-step. Your question, and the unhappiness betrayed by your tone, seems to assuage whatever worry he had. He settles, as content and human as you've ever seen him, into your pillows.

"If it's alright with you, doctor, I'd like to stay here."

You don't speak. You don't need to. The moment he sees your smile, he knows the answer.

He never has to leave you again.


End file.
